


Only Pewter

by Silential



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Cursed Storybrooke, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 17:57:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/942943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silential/pseuds/Silential
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cursed Storybrooke: she comes into his shop during a rainstorm. NOT Lacey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Pewter

Rain lashed against the windows, whipped into a frenzy by the wind howling for blood beyond the protective barrier of his shop door. Not that Gold usually paid attention, but the joke of a weatherman on the radio had predicted a nasty squall around dusk, and it seemed he was right for once. Dark clouds prematurely aged the day, plunging the abandoned street outside into an early and gloomy darkness.

Business had been spottier than usual, the constant threat of rain from noon on encouraging all but the most desperate of souls to stay indoors. For all the profit he had turned, which was to say none, it almost would have behooved him to have closed up early for the first time in… well as long as he could remember. Only the thought of puttering around a cold and empty house had kept him from doing so. Surrounded by his treasures, even a quiet day at the shop was preferable to the aching almost-void he felt there.

Yes, definitely best to stay the last hour until six, even if he accomplished nothing more than polishing. Spying an old pewter tea set he’d meant to bring home the other day, Gold tucked the cloth used to polish it in his pocket and carefully considered how he was going to move it into the backroom. Sure he could have stood at the front counter, certainly easier that, but he preferred the privacy of the back when sprucing up or fixing his items. It ruined the magic of a piece to see all the work that went into tending it, he thought. 

His gaze jumping from his cane to the cumbersome set, he weighed his options. Taking it back piece by piece might be safer, but attempting to balance it would be _faster_ – how easy was his life, he ruminated silently, that how to carry a tea set with his bad leg was the gravest decision he’d encountered all day. He specifically chose to use the word _easy_ , rather than other terms which might apply more aptly. Empty. Purposeless.

Gold shook his head, dispelling the self-pity before it could coalesce into a full on pity party. He’d had them before at three in the morning in a cold, cold bed; he hardly needed to have one now. So focused was he inward, he didn’t even hear the familiar peal of the bell over the door. 

A soft rustling towards the front of the shop bid him turn. 

The woman standing just inside the door shifted from foot to foot, a sheepish grin on her features. Her long hair was plastered to her head, threadbare dark jacket completely soaked through. He recognized her as the librarian, one Ms. French – her first name completely escaped him. As usually happened whenever he encountered someone, a list of facts and debts sprung to mind like some kind of mental database. Since she did not rent from him and their paths rarely crossed, he knew relatively little. 

Gold didn’t know if she was waiting for him to speak first, but he found he had nothing to say. He watched as she seemed to shrink under his gaze. 

Looking to her hands, French thumbed the strap of her bag. Also soaked, probably. “Sorry, Mr. Gold. It’s pouring and I didn’t have an umbrella.” 

“I can see that,” he said, and to his surprise she seemed to blush, “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Not really, no. I was just going to wait out the worst of it… if that’s ok?” Her eyes pleaded with him not to kick her out for clearly having no intention to buy, and Gold could only shrug. He’d already lost a day of profits, what was one more hour?

Turning back to the tea set, Gold shook off the niggling desire to fetch her a towel and a seat. She was a grown woman, he chastised himself, and if she couldn’t handle her jacket being wet for a bit then she had bigger problems. “Fine by me, dearie. I’m just going to be in the back working.”

“Oh no problem,” he heard her say, “I won’t bother you. I’m probably, well I’m probably just going to read anyway. Kind of stereotypical, I guess.” 

He mmm’ed noncommittally, reaching for the cold metal platter that sat beneath the somewhat dusty set. Gently pulling it as far off the shelf as he dared, he slipped his hand beneath like a butler and hefted it upwards. 

“Can I help you with that?” Though he wasn’t facing her, she sounded closer, probably on the other side of the counter. 

“I have it, Ms. French.” 

“Are you sure?” Concern leaked into her voice, though whether it was for him or the expensive merchandise in his hand, he couldn’t say. 

His lips already forming the word _yes_ , he turned a bit too quickly and offset the delicate balance the platter and he had somehow found. A quick maneuver he’d pretend he didn’t make later saved the majority of it, but one metal cup plummeted to the floor. It bounced harmlessly, spinning on its side in the weak light of the shop. Still holding its brethren, Gold found his eyes unconsciously seeking out those of Ms. French.

A frown twisted her lips, and it took him a second to realize she had crouched to the floor a moment before, either in an attempt to catch the cup or clean up what remained of it. She peered upwards at him, and the fleeting but powerful sense of _this isn’t right_ stole over him. 

Wetting his lips, Gold badly wanted to make a remark, some quip trivializing the fact that he’d just dropped his own merchandise, but nothing came to mind. 

She plucked it from the ground, easily pushing upwards in a way he hadn’t been able to in ages. “It seems to be fine. Though there is a slight…. dent.”

“’Tis no matter.”

French quirked a small smile. “It’s only a cup?” 

Watching as she cradled it in her palms, Gold ventured, “I would say ‘pewter,’ but yes that works. Though, given all of this, perhaps I could use your help after all, dearie.” 

“My pleasure.” The cup in one hand, she gracefully took hold of the platter and made for his office. 

At least it hadn’t been porcelain, and for the life of him, Gold couldn’t determine why that thought made him so damn sad. 


End file.
